Improbability
by Shrinking Heliotrope
Summary: Sherlock is head over heels for John, but he thinks that a romantic relationship couldn't possibly work between them because he is asexual. As always, John surprises him. Ace!Sherlock/Straight!John, T for discussion of sex.


'I love you, Sherlock.'

How ironic, Sherlock thinks, that such a simple statement can be so complex.

Not in a _literary_ sense, of course. That would be absurd; there are only three words. _I_: subject pronoun, _love_: verb in the first-person singular form, _you_: object pronoun. Definition: _love, _noun, a strong or tender affection for someone; verb, to have affection for someone. It's absurdly simple.

Or at least, it _should _be absurdly simple. And yet it _wasn't_. Three simple words somehow encompassed the abstract idea which people killed for and died for, that they craved and reviled, that can cause one both joy and agony.

Possibly the worst thing was that Sherlock hadn't even seen it coming, and really, he ought to have. He, who is supposed to see _everything_, missed something that was really rather important.

But Sherlock… well, he had never been very good with feelings. Not with others', and not with his own. Without the evidence- without looking at someone's shoes or their hands or the cuff of their sleeve or something like that- Sherlock really did not know _what_ was going on inside their heads, nor did he often care. He supposed he just spent too much time in his own mind, really, to be able to remember that others had minds, too, no matter how tiny, or how insignificant it seemed to him. This proved to be an issue sometimes.

And unfortunately, this was one of those times.

Nothing in John's behaviour had indicated that something had changed!

Well, that's not quite true. Things _had_ been different between him and Sherlock lately. Nothing _bad_. Just… different. Perhaps, when they looked at each other, it was longer than it had been before. Perhaps when their hands accidentally brushed, they'd linger a little longer than was absolutely necessary. Of course Sherlock was very extremely fond of John. And he knew that John liked him very much, too. He'd once even called Sherlock his 'best friend', and the closest thing to a friend that Sherlock had ever had before John was Mycroft, and, well… _their_ relationship was a little more complicated. But with John it was easy. They worked on cases together, they watched films together, they did everything that Sherlock understood one was supposed to do with a best friend.

It was marvellous… and it made Sherlock realise that maybe his feelings for John were not the same as when first they met. _That _was cause for some worry.

He had been in love once before. But it ended badly, when Sherlock had discovered something about himself.

He did not like sex. At all. He had no interest in it whatever, and secretly thought of it as rather repulsive, although he didn't tell anyone that. He knew it was… atypical, so he just kept it to himself and avoided close relationships, no matter what he may have truly wanted. He would leave it at a simple 'not my area' if anyone asked, or tried to proposition him for sex, or told him that he just needed to meet 'the right person.'

Well, all right, maybe there _were_ some people who simply had to meet the right person to become interested in sex. But Sherlock was not one of them. He _had_ met the right person, and he was sure of it, he had never been surer of anything else. But his feelings hadn't changed. In truth, he _adored_ John, and would do anything for him (except the shopping, unless circumstances were dire), and he sometimes wondered what it might be like to have John all to himself, but Sherlock did not want to have sex with him.

This was a problem. John liked sex. He _enjoyed _it. He _needed_ it, which was hard for Sherlock to completely understand, but he supposed it was something he'd just have to accept as a 'John Thing', like the fact that John didn't like Sherlock performing experiments in John's favourite mug, and that he must not refer to Harry as 'John's alcoholic sister', even if that's what she is, because it hurts John's feelings (John does love his sister, even if they don't get along). As much as he did love John, though, he just couldn't have sex with him. He just couldn't do it. There were people who could do that for a partner, regardless of their feelings on sex, but Sherlock was not one of them, either.

So he pushed his feelings for John aside, focused on his work, and made sure that he and John did the things that one does with a best friend to solidify the idea that they were, well, best friends, nothing more. He watched John sometimes, and could tell that John was fond of him, but there was no reason to believe that John was in love with him, which gratified Sherlock just as much as it hurt him. It was much better that way, though; Sherlock could avoid the pain of a failed relationship if there was no relationship to begin with.

But then, this evening… after the case, he and John went out for dinner, as they often would. They talked and laughed with each other, as always. John has a most lovely smile, so Sherlock allowed himself some time to admire it before he went back to diligently trying not to be in love with him. (His methods are not without their flaws.) The table was small, so their knees bumped occasionally, before sort of just resting there against each other, and Sherlock could feel the comforting heat of John's leg against his, and it was very nice. Possibly it was a little too romantic for anything less than a date, but, well, what did it matter, since everyone thought they were together anyway.

They weren't at all far from Baker Street, and not too tired, either, so they walked home at a leisurely pace, sometime talking, sometimes not. Sherlock never felt more at ease with anyone else; even the silence was companionable when they were together, and John seemed to think so, too. They went upstairs slowly, almost sorry to be home. Sherlock was still riding on the high from solving the case and wouldn't be able to sleep for a while yet, so he stood in the sitting room deciding what to do. John made no move toward his bedroom, either; in fact, he seemed to be trying to make a decision as well. Just as Sherlock was thinking that maybe he'd sit quietly for a few minutes and enjoy the rare feeling of a peaceful mind, he heard John sort of clear his throat behind him.

'Sherlock?'

'Hm?' Sherlock turned to face him, eyebrows raised in question.

'I, er, just wanted to talk to you about something.' He seemed a little uncomfortable. How odd. Did he have bad news? Was he, Sherlock thought with a growing apprehension, about to announce that he was moving out? Sherlock sometimes feared this, particularly because he could see no reason why John _shouldn't_ move out, aside from Sherlock wanting him to stay.

John stepped a bit closer to him, though not _too_ close. Perhaps he was expecting a bad reaction, which added to the sinking feeling of dread that Sherlock was trying to ignore.

'Well, it's just,' John ran a hand through his hair uncomfortably, 'I know you've said that romance isn't really your _area_, and that you- that you're married to your work. But. I. Er. I seem to have gone and fallen in love with you anyway.'

Sherlock stared at him, blinked a few times. He hadn't ever felt more idiotic in his life.

'What?'

'I…' John looked maybe a bit discouraged, but his voice was strong and confident when he said,

'I love you, Sherlock.'

And that is how Sherlock got to be _here_, standing in the middle of the sitting room, staring dumbly at John, feeling as though his brain has just crashed. He wants to ask John if he's sure, but he knows John would never lie to him about something like this, and it would be an insult to him to doubt it. Besides, John is really a terrible liar, so it would have been quite obvious if he wasn't telling Sherlock the truth. But… how? How could John possibly love him?

And then, _oh_. What John has just said finally hits him, and there's an ache in his chest, but a _good _one, like the best high he's ever had, and suddenly _reciprocity_ is the most beautiful word in the English language, and he must be standing there gaping like an idiot but it's just so- he never thought that- it's very—

All Sherlock can even think to do then is to enfold John in a crushing embrace, which, thankfully, he returns with a warm laugh. Sherlock holds on to him for quite a few moments before he realises that possibly John was expecting a kiss; but John doesn't seem inclined to let go, as he's leaning his head against Sherlock's shoulder and one of his hands pets soothingly along Sherlock's back. Sherlock turns a bit so that he can kiss wherever he can reach because he figures that would be the best course of action to make up for his mistake, but just as his lips brush against John's head, he _remembers_. It hits him all at once, a crushing blow. Immediately he feels devastated, even though nothing's even really happened yet, and he curses himself for being so weak and stupid as to fall in love. But he stops himself; he can wallow in self-pity later. Right now, he has to talk to John.

He pulls back a bit. John lets him, but still has his arms around Sherlock, ready to embrace him again.

'John,' he says very quietly, reaching up to cup John's face in his hand. He tries to memorise the feel of John's skin against his palm, just in case he never gets to touch that cheek again.

'Yes?' Oh lord, John is _smiling_ at him like that, when he already feels so heartbroken.

'There's… something I haven't told you.'

John shrugs one shoulder good-naturedly, 'Go on, then.'

'I...,' well he must say it now, even though it's difficult, he must. He owes John at least that much.

'I love you.' He pauses, savouring the feel of the words in his mouth. It's better than he dared to hope it might be. 'But… I'm not interested in sex. At all.' John didn't say anything yet, but Sherlock was afraid he might, so he adds in a bit of a rush. 'I'm sorry. I know sex is important to you. I understand if you never want to see me again.'

'Whoa, slow down,' John says, his hands on Sherlock's shoulders, rubbing his thumbs on Sherlock's collar bones. He coaxes Sherlock over to the sofa to sit down.

'All right. So. You're not interested in sex? Not at all?'

'No.' Sherlock sighs. 'I had hoped… that with you, I might be, but…' he lets the sentence trail off, unsure of what to say.

John was biting his lip, looking like he was trying not to smile.

'What?'

John looks away for a moment, then back again. 'Nothing, it's just. Well. You might not believe this.'

Sherlock frowns now. 'John. Please. I can always tell when you lie. Besides. When you've eliminated the impossible, whatever's left is the truth.'

'No matter how… improbable?' John asks with a small smile.

'No matter how improbable.' Sherlock confirms, even though he hates repeating himself.

'Good. Because, well… all those times I said I was straight? Well, it's true. I _am_ straight.'

'But you- didn't you just say that- '

'Oh, yes, I _am_ in love with you. Very much. So very much.' He stops to lick his lips, and he's blushing a bit. It's entirely charming. 'I'd like to- to kiss you, if you're not against it, of course. And I think you're- really lovely. Brilliant and handsome and- oh, shut up, you are. But… I don't actually want to have sex with you. I mean, I- if you had wanted me to, I would've- made an exception. Only for you, though. But. Well if it's all the same to you, I'd like to spend the rest of my life with-you-but-not-having-sex-with-you. That is, if you'd have me. So, er, what do you think?'

Sherlock feels like his heart is breaking, in a good way. Like there's so much of something good in his chest that it's going to explode. It is unfamiliar, but not unpleasant.

'I think that would be very… good.' And he has to laugh then, because it is sort of ridiculous that that's all he can even think to say, and because he's a bit shocked at how happy he is. If the rest of his life was tragedy, it would be adequate payment for how happy he is at this moment. (Though he certainly hopes it will not be, even though he knows he probably doesn't deserve such happiness.)

Sherlock embraces John again, effusively, and John returns it just the same. When they finally feel that they can let go, John looks up at him, smiling,

'So tell me. How do you feel about kissing?'

Sherlock hums, thinking for a moment. Then his thoughtful expression transforms into a playful smirk.

'Shall we find out?'

~~~  
(A/N: So this is my first fic, please tell me what you think ^_^ I may have an idea for more chapters, if anyone would like me to continue ^_^


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